647/Thunder In Her Dreams

Thunder In Her Dreams
Date of Scene:	29 November 2015
Location:	Plot Room #1
Synopsis:	Rei's vision brings Makoto a dream of Jupiter's Princess, of long-dead flowers, of longer-dead promises. She probably didn't want it.
Cast of Characters:	Makoto Kino, Kunzite

---

Kunzite has posed:
"Four pieces..." she murmurs, brows drawing together for a moment as she thinks over Rei's recounting of her vision. "I wonder..."

Thinking to herself. She doesn't pursue the thought, though. The symbolism of Rei's visions is something that's hard for her to wrap her head around; Mako works best in straight and uncomplicated lines.

She didn't pursue the thought then. But Makoto dreams.

She steps into a place that is all barbaric splendor: the mineral bones of the Earth hand-carved, the wooden bones of growing things sanded and smoothed. Sunlight spills through the air, in through windows of clear and colored glass rather than finer crystal. So much sunlight. In the inner worlds, the Sun is bright enough to show as a disc, not a star, and this world's atmosphere is rich enough to gentle its glare and clear enough to make it a glowing glory rather than a suffocating greenhouse heat. The wild planet's short-lived children take these things for granted. So few of them have ever set foot elsewhere, to see the contrasts.

The one who is waiting, watching, unsurprised by her appearance, is one of the exceptions. One of the Prince's personal guards; the head of them, she thinks. Taller than Nephrite by an inch or two, frame a trifle less muscled. Pale hair. Eyes the color of an Earthside sword.

He steps forward, precise; bows, just as precise. "Princess. It is our honor to host you again, however briefly." His grasp of the courtly forms is a little outdated. A language he's spoken for a long time, but not his first, and one he's never quite at home in. He doesn't inquire about her business. It's something he merely presumes, is resigned to. "She's in the gardens again; we've kept careful watch. May I have the privilege of escorting you to her?"

Makoto Kino has posed:
The Earth speaks to Jupiter's princess - so wild, so green, its winds breathing to her in the voices of rustling leaves in deep forests growing thick and unrestrained beyond the palace walls. The air may be calm today, but she's felt it promise the violence of a storm wind, crisp with a scent of lightning-struck ozone.

The Moon is beautiful beyond compare and it's been her home since she was small, but there are no storms there, no wild-growing forests. Foreign and strange as its gravity and its sky and the sunlight that washes over everything might be, the Earth reminds her of Io, of Ganymede. Different, and yet the same.

She'd been standing with her head slightly tilted, feeling the way the air moved against her skin, but now she answers Kunzite's bow with one of her own, perhaps a little less precise but effortlessly graceful. As she straightens she lifts a hand to flick the curling end of her ponytail back over her shoulder.

"She's with His Highness, I assume? She won't thank me for an unwelcome interruption." Lively amusement sparkles in her green eyes, at odds with the carefully polite smile. "But I'll accept your escort to a part of the gardens within line of sight, at a respectful distance. That should be fine, shouldn't it?"

Kunzite has posed:
"Where the two of them are concerned, all interruptions are unwelcome." There's no change in his expression; like her, any hint of amusement is limited to his eyes. In his case, though -- not even a sparkle, not even a crease. Just a flicker of silver toward her as he turns. It's almost enough in itself. "I'm sure they're learning to live with it. But a respectful distance it will be, if you'd prefer."

He offers her his arm, because by Earthside standards it is the polite thing to do. He does not offer her his arm, because he has respect for the storm she bears with her, and because leaving himself open to it would be a failure in his duty. Both of these things ring true, both of these things have happened, and in the fashion of dreams, as they walk it is sometimes one, sometimes the other.

The gardens grow up around them, green and wild and tamed all at once. Open to the atmosphere, to the winds that whisper to her in a tongue only half alien, half familiar as her own heart. In the dream, everything is in bloom at once regardless of season. Deep-green undergrowth that harbors sudden red flowers, spiky petals licking up from the shadow like tongues of flame, and set among them tiny arrays of white flowerlets like stars, like constellations. Climbing vines with cool blue blossoms the size of her hand -- rooted firmly in the earth, arching upward toward the air, framing sculptures and reliefs in their colors. Bright, hotheaded spangles of gold, set incongruously among cherry trees in blossom. Shrubs with unfamiliar flowers, five broad white petals about a black center, curving in an almost cyclonic pattern. From somewhere, the distant scent of roses, heady and pure, summing all the essences of the garden into one.

Her escort is unhurried, leaving her time to move at the pace of the flowers and the breeze. When he speaks again, they are alone on their path. The words cut quietly through any peace she might have found -- not to destroy it, but to sever one moment from another. A demarcation. Nothing more. "I don't begrudge them these moments. But I find myself wishing, from time to time, that they'd choose to stop."

Those eyes aren't watching her directly. She's certain they're aware of every trace of her reactions, all the same.

Makoto Kino has posed:
"I'm sure that you do." She matches the length of her steps to his escort, moving with a different sort of grace than the airy light-footedness of the lunar-born. Now she clasps her hands loosely behind her, mindful of the space between them and how quickly it could change if it had to - now her hand rests on the arm he offered her, much more lightly than most might expect from a warrior princess from a world of thunder. When she looks at him, it's with her face turning toward him, those green eyes fixing upon his with unwavering focus. "the question is, for whose sake?"

Presently she looks away again, off across the garden, gaze drifting over the riots of color half-searching for a figure she knows isn't there. "...I half thought it'd be Nephrite." The words are murmured to herself, thinking aloud, barely audible; she's not sure if she's relieved or disappointed. Maybe both.

Then, at a more conversational volume-- "'Four Heavenly Kings.' I've been wondering for a while what that means."

Kunzite has posed:
His arm is steady beneath her hand. If he shares any of the superstitions this child-world has about those from the older places, he is polite enough, precise enough, not to let them show. Or perhaps the calm is even genuine. Certainly when she turns toward him and asks that question, there is no sign of a flinch.

"Yes," he answers, even though her question required a who. "For her sake, to begin with. There are four of you dedicated to her guard, and unnumbered others whose duties include the same. Yet she still flits past you, and comes to rest here. It's a matter of time until she inspires him to do the same, until their desire for privacy finally outweighs their sense. There are four of us dedicated to his guard. If she can elude you, when she puts her mind to it, then the two of them can elude us. And at heart ... he knows the world isn't a safe place. I don't think she does."

Two paces pass in silence before he continues. His tone is still conversational, his expression and manner still filled with that same calm. "If she eludes us, or if before one of you catches up with them, we prove insufficient to protect them. If something were to happen to her. You are better aware than I am that we have no possible defense against her mother's anger. Whether or not her royal mother would retaliate ... the potential for it increases resentment. Increases the risk to her. Which increases the perceived risk to the Earth. I act in faith that it is only perceived. We take what steps we can to ensure her safety. Each time we find her, we keep close watch till one of you can arrive, and share the watch after. But if any of you have better ideas, we'd appreciate it if you shared them."

He glances sidewise at her again with those last words. The only hint that he considers the matter more than a mental exercise, more than a theoretical consideration for some strategy game.

It's when she murmurs that musing to herself that his head tilts a little to one side, his expression gentles almost imperceptibly to something a little warmer, a little more human. "Nephrite? You'll see him shortly. He's watching over the two of them." Perhaps Nephrite's commander wanted a few moments to speak frankly with whichever of the guardians came down to set foot on Earth. Or perhaps he half thought it would be -- someone other than Jupiter.

And at her implicit question, there's a sound that's almost a laugh. "It means," he replies, "wishful thinking. Given that the four of us are far from heavenly. Even the 'king' part is as much symbolic as literal ... though in Nephrite's case, it's quite literal, and he takes it very seriously indeed."

Makoto Kino has posed:
Something in what he says brings a wry, crooked smile to Jupiter's lips, and she angles her gaze away, words coming out of her in a sigh. "That, you don't need to tell me. I know very well already." It's not quite clear just which of the points he's made that she means, however, and Jupiter doesn't say.

Instead, she walks in contemplative silence for a few steps before she goes on. "When I first heard of you four, I thought that you were the same as we Guardian Senshi. But the more I've learned, the more I wonder how true that really is. Or rather, it seems like it is and also it isn't."

She glances toward Kunzite, as though trying to gauge that inscrutable expression. "...I do have one or two ideas," she says at last, picking up the thread of something he said before. "Though it would mean trading one set of problems for another. Perhaps lesser, perhaps not." She's not looking his way at all now; her eyes are soft and distant. "They've chosen the very hardest path, but if they find their way through it, they have a chance to build something good. Rather than being someone who they have to sneak around, if I can, I'd like to be on their side."

Kunzite has posed:
"Like, and unlike. As all things are." Only one pace to make his decision, this time, on what to tell her, on what to keep silent. He lifts a hand and sketches a sign in the air: a rough circle, cut once vertically, a second time horizontally. "We're our Prince's personal guard; you know that part well enough. We serve him. We advise him. We go about his errands. This world is too large, in a certain sense, for one man to manage; so when he needs to deal with a problem directly, we serve as his hands and his eyes, and sometimes his voice. We act on and with his authority, and he knows us well enough to be certain that we will not abuse it."

When she says that last, he turns his head, regarding her more directly. There's something about his attention that is reminiscent of a storm impending, energy potentials almost tangible in the air. "We're all on their side," he says. "I'd like to think."

Makoto Kino has posed:
Jupiter's princess knows well the feeling of an oncoming storm, and she meets Kunzite's eyes without shrinking back from the pressure of his regard. "I believe that we are," she agrees solemnly. "I'm just not sure if that means the same thing to each of us."

A beat passes; this time, her eyes turn upward to the sky, toward a distant point of light that can't be seen in the vast blue of Earth's daylight sky. "I left my world to serve the Princess," she says, almost casually, as though only making idle conversation. The grave look hasn't left her face, however. "I won't say it wasn't a sacrifice, but I don't mind it. My oaths are simple, and I haven't had to worry about feeling torn."

There's a 'but' lurking under her words, but she doesn't say it. Her eyes turn back to Kunzite again, direct and unwavering in that way she seems to prefer. "I don't think that yours are. Though perhaps it's just that I've been talking to Nephrite too much."

Kunzite has posed:
And they are stopped.

And Kunzite has turned to face her, direct and unwavering. Straight as a blade.

"I choose to trust, Princess," he says, "that any unfortunate hints in what you just said are purely accidental." He stands silent for a moment, breathing steadily and slow. The day is colder now. There has been no breeze to bring a chill. "For myself. I have no children, no cousins, no blood ties that might cause a conflict of loyalties. I have no nation but Elysion. I have no kin but my brothers in arms. I have spent my life in seeing to it that my Prince is secure - in the short term, in body and in spirit; in the long term, in sound judgment, in knowledge of his world, in the integrity necessary to see that he is as loyal to his lands and his people as we are to him. I will spend what remains to me in the same way. It is a short time compared to what your people are given, I understand. But that does not make me the lesser, in what time I have."

Makoto Kino has posed:
Reactions sweep across Jupiter's face one after another - a flash of surprise followed by dismayed understanding followed by a flush of shame. In the next moment she touches hand to heart and bows her head in a gesture of respect and genuine contrition. "I ask your pardon, Kunzite," she says. "I've been told many times that I'm too careless with my words. It's not becoming of a guardian of the Moon Princess, but it seems I need to work harder to address my faults."

Drawing in a breath, she straightens back to her full height and meets his eyes again. Her regard is as straightforward as ever, but she speaks a little more carefully now. "It was not my intention to question your loyalty, only to... try to understand its shape. I understand better now, but the understanding is not worth giving offense."

Kunzite has posed:
The bow of her head is answered, a moment later, by one of his own. "No offense was given, Princess, and no pardon is needed. Though certainly it will also not be denied, if it eases you." The words begin as strict courtesy, memorized forms to be moved through. By their end, there is life in them again, and in his eyes when she meets them. There is anger there, but well buried, and not directed at her; and the sunlight is warm again on her skin, and on her hair. "I offer apology in my turn, as well." There is an actual curve for a moment at the corner of his mouth. "For being perhaps a simpler man than you expected."

Makoto Kino has posed:
Laughter bubbles out of her, the surprised delight of having discovered a treasure in some unexpected place without even looking for it. In a flash, Jupiter's green eyes sparkle with good humor. "I'll accept no apology for that," she replies merrily. "Quite the contrary, it's reassuring to know that we have something more in common than I'd believed."

Kunzite has posed:
This time, when he bends his head to her, the gesture is natural; when he straightens and turns and offers her his arm again, he permits the angles not to be calculated in advance. Just this once. "The gods preserve us all from rumor. I'd hope that if Nephrite truly thought such a thing, he'd confront me with it himself. If not -- then I have more of a failure to concern myself with than I'd thought. There are ways in which he's a better man than I am; they complicate things, sometimes. But in any case. No. Your Princess has nothing to fear from me. I don't expect you to take my word for that; but in time you will find it true."

So he says. So, perhaps, he might believe. But the faint flavor of the impending storm has not gone away.

Makoto Kino has posed:
Once more, Jupiter places her hand lightly on the arm that he offers. This time when she does, she grimaces faintly, a rueful expression that in words would probably sound something like 'ergh.' "It seems I should apologize again," she says, glancing away across the garden at nothing. "Nephrite hasn't spoken to me about anyone but himself. And that not very much. I misspoke even more badly than I realized if I gave you any other impression."

A hint of color has risen in her cheeks as she says it, possibly from sheer awkwardness. All the same, she looks back over at him before long. "I'd wondered if you four were all in similar positions. That was all. But in any case, I think there's no more need for words on the subject." She pauses for a moment, considering him thoughtfully - and then smiles, deliberately but amiably, with no sign of artifice. "Thank you, Kunzite," Jupiter says. "For looking out for my Princess, and for your escort."

Kunzite has posed:
"No. No, you have again no call to apologize." Kunzite covers her hand with his, and then lets her fingers go again. "You made the situation clear. And I will not betray your confidence. But if Nephrite is feeling torn, if his loyalties are in conflict --"

(A cross within a circle, like the one Kunzite sketched in the air. Steady and golden, geometrically perfect. Reinforcing itself, standing up against any pressure. Until the first crack opens, separating one quarter from another, and burns.)

"I am his brother as well as his commander, Princess. It is my responsibility to find out why, and to help him find a way to resolve the situation. You work in a group as small as ours. You know what happens when these things fester. I thank you for the warning."

(Until the fire spreads, separating one quarter from another, breaking the four pieces apart.)

Up ahead, the path passes through an archway in a hedge, and past it she can see two figures standing together, dark hand in silver-bright; and closer, standing guard, a man not quite so tall as Kunzite, a little more heavily muscled, with the sunlight a crown of glory on his dark hair.

(In the fire, in the fury of the storm, a figure in blackened armor moves with eyes that are not his own.)

And Makoto wakes.